Chapter 1
Katana
My body trembles as the floorboard outside my door creaks. I pull the blankets higher, even though sweat beads over my skin, making my pajamas stick to me like glue.
Please just go away.
I’m twenty years old, but Ted still treats me like some cornered little girl.
Being stuck in high school doesn’t help.
I should’ve graduated two years ago, but I missed too many days as a kid.
Mom was too drunk or strung out on drugs to get me on the bus, and I was too small at six and seven years old to get myself there.
That was enough for the system to hold me back. Twice.
Now I’m paying for it every day of my life.
“Ted. What ya doin’?” My mom’s voice slurs, drunk again. Relief rushes through me at the sound, even though I know better than to hope. Maybe this time she’ll do the right thing. Maybe this time she’ll see him for what he is.
“Git back to bed, Connie. This doesn’t concern ya.” His voice is low, laced with barely restrained rage.
“Have ya been sneakin’ in her room? She told me you was. I didn’t believe her.”
“Sneakin’?” Sarcasm drips from his tongue. “I don’t need to sneak. She invites me.”
“That’s not what she told me.”
Hope flares in my chest. Please. For once, believe me.
“I said, git back to bed!” he yells.
“No. I’m not goin’.”
My pulse spikes. Alright. Mom’s finally getting a backbone.
Her footsteps pad across the wooden floor. “Git away from my daughter.”
The slam against my door shakes the whole frame. She screams, and I hear the ugly crack of a slap, followed by her cry of pain.
“Lemme go—”
“Told ya this doesn’t concern you.” Another blow. Another sickening thud of flesh against wood.
Oh God. He’s going to kill her.
I sit up, clinging to my blanket, my heart hammering. I stare at the door, my mouth dry, pulse ricocheting in my ears. The chair wedged under the knob won’t last long.
“Leave… my… daughter…” Mom rasps, defiant even as she cries out in pain again.
Ted snarls, “Yer daughter is a twenty-year-old whore. Dumb bitch is still in high school.”
Tears burn my eyes. The insult isn’t new. Neither is the shame that comes with it.
Another scream. The door bows inward from the force of the fight.
An image fills my head. The silver handle. The cool weight I carried upstairs two nights ago after another one of Ted’s disgusting comments. I’d been terrified. And tired of being a victim.
My fingers slide beneath my pillow, closing around the knife. My mom’s screams are a brutal symphony as I climb from my bed, creeping toward the door. My hand is slick around the knife’s handle.
There’s a thud against the opposite wall, and my mom shrieks again. The fight has moved. Ted curses, a sickening crack of bone against bone makes me cringe.
Unable to stand it any longer, I ease my bedroom door open, the hinges squeaking. But neither of them notices.
Ted’s back is to me, his hulking frame bent over my mother. She’s lying on the floor, blood streaming down her face.
“Please—” She raises her hands in surrender.
He hauls her up by her hair, and her hazel eyes find mine.
Regret glistens there. Time slows as her face contorts in horror as he lifts her higher, then tosses her down the stairs like a bag of trash.
The crack of flesh and bone against the wood thumps over and over again, making bile rise in my throat.
And then... deafening silence.
I stand there, disbelief being replaced by a red haze. Rage boils over, raw and unstoppable. My feet move before my mind processes what’s happening.
“Dumb fucking bitch,” he mutters from the railing, glaring down at her crumpled body. “No one will miss ya.”
The snarl tears from my chest as I launch forward. The knife flashes in the gleam of moonlight slicing through the window. My grip is steady as the knife plunges into his skin. His howl joins mine in a vicious chorus.
Slash. Scream. Slash. Howl.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
Blood spatters, hot and viscous, on my face, hands, and pajamas. The metallic scent drives me wild. He staggers and pleads, his voice weak, but I don’t stop. Not until his body crashes down the stairs, bones snapping like brittle sticks.
He hits the bottom, legs and arms bent at odd angles. I slowly descend, blood dripping from the blade. His wide, terrified eyes lock on mine.
“P-please.” His voice is a raspy whisper, a shadow of the booming baritone that once haunted this house.
A sinister smile curls my lips. A laugh bubbles up, half hysterical, half release.
As quickly as it came on, I cut it off, staring down at him with the fury of a thousand victims who’ve found their power.
“No. Mercy.”
I drive the blade into his chest, straight through his heart.
My voice thunders inside my head. Be sure. Don’t let him get up again.
I pull it out, then stab him again. The blade cuts into his skin, red blooming from it, as I slide it from one side of his neck to the other.
The life drains from his eyes, and for the first time in years, the screaming in my head goes quiet.
I crouch at my mother’s side, fingers seeking a pulse I already know won’t be there.
Nothing.
She’s cold, her eyes empty.
Dead.
Just like Ted.
With the knife still in my hand, I climb the stairs, take her phone from the charger, and walk back downstairs. My eyes sweep over both bodies. I feel no sympathy. No regret. Not after the hell I’ve endured.
Maybe that makes me a monster.
I open the front door. The October air bites my sweat-soaked skin. Halloween lights blink across the street—indifferent to what happened inside this old, dilapidated house, bright witnesses to what I’ve become.
I dial, still holding the knife.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher asks.
My voice is steady and strong. “I just killed my mom’s boyfriend. Send someone to 1331 Hemlock Lane.”
I hang up and stare at the moon, waiting for whatever comes next.
Happy Halloween.